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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24076759">It's fine.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SfrogPlus/pseuds/SfrogPlus'>SfrogPlus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gifts For Some Neat People [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>I Was Watching Horror Games While Writing this, I Wrote This For A Cool Person, I wrote this instead of homework, Late at Night, Like A Lot Of Laughing, Live As We Know It, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Out of Character, Playgrounds, Post-Game(s), Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Sir or Ma'am, Swing Set, Unlock Your Memories To Obtain They Key!, how to tag, laughing, not really angst, thank you, this is not good</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:42:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,572</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24076759</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SfrogPlus/pseuds/SfrogPlus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After they all wake up from the simulation, they remembered their past selves but kept their in-game memories. And it- it... hurts. It hurts so bad. He tries to ignore it but... </p><p>He wakes up, sweating, even in the winter. He isn't used to temperatures, touching his skin, poking into his mind, and telling him what. He isn't used to being alive, or memories fading in and out as if they were welcomed. His head hurts, and he wants to see Kokichi Ouma. </p><p>
  <em>It's fine.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Prompt From <em>Mother_of_a_Grape_Gremlin.</em></p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Please read endnotes for more and thank you for reading! :)</p>
</blockquote>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>????? Not Really Though, Amami Rantaro/Oma Kokichi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gifts For Some Neat People [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741915</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>It's fine.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_of_a_Grape_Gremlin/gifts">Mother_of_a_Grape_Gremlin</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>
<strong>Rantaro Amami</strong>, or someone else?</h3><p><em> Panic gushed into his soul, carving himself into something he couldn’t recognize anymore. It hurt, burning into his heart. </em> That was fine. <em> Rapid warnings charged at his mind faster than the lithe boy could run, but his voice couldn’t come out- No words spilled out as brittle blobs of blue ran down his cheek. </em></p><p> </p><p> That was fine. <em> Something echoed in the back of his mind, but he ignored the glaring sounds in his head tearing that was tearing itself apart. He turned his back towards the small boy for the final time and took a step. </em></p><p> </p><p><em>   Then another. And not once looked back. He ignored the twisting feelings stringing his heart in one too many directions, toying with him as if he was a puppet. He gritted his teeth, </em> that was fine, <em> he was not a puppet. He was free to do whatever he wanted, free to jump off any buildings, free to stab himself in the ribcage how many times he wanted, he was NOT A PUPPET. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   His brother smiled at him, and he could feel it. But when he opened his eyes, nobody was there. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>   Once he looked back, there was nothing to look back at, only emptiness. The long, white devoid of space that surrounded him fully. Surrounding him, grabbing him, and pulling him into nothing. </em> That was fine. <em> Nothing was here- there, where anymore. Barren, as he fell down, and further and further he went down the rabbit hole. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   Until it was pitch black, ink splashing onto his skin with contrast, eating him up as if he were but in a dream. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to go here. It smelled foul here but bland. The air felt it was choking him to death, and taking him apart one by one. Something hard crushes onto him, blowing him up into smithers but still conscious, always conscious, always alive- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>  Then he opened his eyes. Gasping for air, drinking it in like water, and so very quickly he could feel himself pale. It was just a dream, just a dream… barely real, but popping his mind. That was just a dream… Just a memory from his past. His throat felt dry, and his body was stiff as he uncomfortably shifted out of his damp sheets.</p><p> </p><p>  Just a memory was such a simple way to sum up his life. </p><p> </p><p><em>   It was fine, it was fine, </em> he tried to remind himself, taking each step off his bed shakingly. His feet were trembling, and he could feel his eye flinching. <em> There’s nothing trying to… </em>He doesn’t finish that sentence, touching around his body just to make sure nothing went detached. He always worried that one morning he might not be himself anymore, but someone else entirely. He was afraid that he might not even exist one day. </p><p> </p><p>  People often told him how handsome he was, he thought as he went to his closet. <em> Attractive, Beautiful, Suave, Stylish. </em> Was that all people saw in him? Was that all he was? A prettied up doll for the eyes of many? He glanced at himself in the mirror, touching the tip of his cheek. <em> Good-looking, Appealing, Charming.  </em></p><p> </p><p><em>   “Y-You know, </em> <b> <em>A̧͢͝͝҉</em> </b> <em> m̷̵͠͡͝ </em> <em> a͘͘͠ </em> <b>m҉̴̡͟͢</b> i̵̡̢͢ <em> . </em> <em> .. your r-really cool-looking… N-Not like I’m t-trying to..! I-I’m sorry.” </em></p><p> </p><p>  Bad memories. The rough buzzing sounds bellowed outside, taking his attention to the quiet sounds from the foreign night that laid just for him out the doors, soft rustling from his jacket as he walked out his door. He took in a breath, feeling the night sky fall into his gaze. And he wants to see a certain pair of purple eyes.</p><p> </p><p>  Calm. Peace. Shadows fell down, carefully arranged at the corners. The outside, here, the bright shining moon watched him, the buzzing grew louder in almost a calming way, pulling him in. And almost as if in a trance…</p><p> </p><p>  He was dragged into the park. The quiet, somewhat eerie small park that always welcomed him. The sounds of buzzing grew louder, the small sounds coming from the ponds nearby, rippling shifty noises from each step he took in the grass, the soothing clinking running up his spine- He glanced over at the swings, making squeaking pitches every time it moved up.</p><p> </p><p>  And there, sat a memory he wanted to forget so bad. Purple hair hanging from his head, pointing out strictly only towards right and wrong, thin arms weakly held onto the chains pulling him up and down, left to right in anemic motion. His listless, empty gaze filled with amethyst staring down into his lap. His skin matched the thin clothes he was wearing, so white, so pale. Color splashed every now and then, short sleeves and he couldn’t help but wonder if this memory of Ouma was okay, sitting there, alone in the cold.</p><p> </p><p>  Then again, Ouma was always alone, wasn’t he?</p><p> </p><p>  Even out of the game, Ouma was still sickly, even before the game, he still was sickly. Before the game… In the game. Aren’t they just the same, he can’t help but wonder. The buzzing grew again in his ears, and before he knew it, he was somewhere else.</p><p> </p><p>  <em> “...W-What do you m-mean?” Ouma’s voice broke before Ouma finished, he noticed. A small smile trembled on his face, furrowed brows, regret stuffed his mind for a second, but he ignored all the echos telling him to- “N-No, no, n-no, no… T-That’s- That has t-to be a lie, right?” No answer. He doesn’t know. Was it a lie when he joined Danganronpa? Was it a joke when he put his life on the line? </em>He doesn’t know.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   Consternation stuffed into Ouma’s mind, building him up with a feeling he didn’t particularly enjoy. Ouma's eyes went large, his pupils shrunk, his mouth opening ever so slightly, “It’s a lie.” Small, quiet, and one too many stutters. Kokichi Ouma. He never spoke up, only to get beaten up and marked with his own blood. Kokichi Ouma, who had scratches, small bandages slung over his body, who stayed quietly behind him, who curled his arms around himself to try and protect himself, barely audible squeak, with his twirly black hair with purple tips. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   Words spilled out his mouth now, his wide, purple orbs flickering into his eyes and back to the pathway surrounded by the ever-growing, bright grass that waved to the warm sun. He thinks it’s funny, but no laugh in his voice, only the small conversations between a mother and a daughter, the sound of a swing going back and forth.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I hate you.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The memory fades and he finds himself resting his head on the metal chain, creaks as he shifts in the swing. The moonlight still shone down, almost glaring at the two swinging so casually together, the gentle ribbits of a cricket. Higher and higher, swinging his feet up and down and his eyes on the ground, Ouma remained silent.</p><p> </p><p>  “Kokichi,” Kokichi, Ouma. He wondered which one to use, then again, it didn’t matter. A soft humming followed the blow of the wind, and he leaned into the sound. “Why are you out here so late?” Worry, and he hopes that it is real. He hopes everything he’s feeling is real.</p><p> </p><p>  The faint humming grows louder, “I heard a knock on my door, so I went outside- But then! There was nobody there, but I heard the sounds of somebody walking here, so I waited. And waited. But whenever I looked around, there was nobody around.” <em> That was… eerie </em>. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel when he heard that.</p><p> </p><p>  “Haha. That’s, well-” He gets interrupted by Ouma. Ouma, with his sweet voice going up and down like a rollercoaster, the line of truth and lies smudged. Ouma- His heart stops for a second.</p><p> </p><p>  “That’s clearly a lie though.” Ouma hums, “I’m waiting for someone to come here.” A pause. Hesitation, a weakness that should never be shown. Ouma has gone over this with him, back when they were both alive in the game. Hesitation, doubt shown in his pale, green eyes. Weakness was fine with the ones you trusted. </p><p> </p><p>  Did he trust Ouma? “Who were you waiting for?” A smile, falling into a frown. Did Ouma trust him? Thoughts, thoughts, ponderous thoughts like these were what threw him off, making his calm, neutral facade descend further down into the rabbit hole. They were what got him killed.</p><p> </p><p>  A shrug, he sees at the side of his eye, a straight line and that empty gaze staring into his soul as if Ouma was trying to dissect it into parts and parts. He looks away. “I don’t remember. I think… I was always waiting for someone. They never came.” Ouma’s voice was quiet, but in the moonlight, he could still hear it. He was familiar with this Ouma. No lies, no truths, just small mutters and trying not to show his face.</p><p> </p><p>  He wonders which one he likes more.</p><p> </p><p>  “You won’t remember anything if you don’t want to. Do you have all your memories?” He has to ask. He <em> needs </em> to know. He has dreams… dreams about Ouma, and what happened before he went into Danganronpa. His memories are almost as if in a haze as if the memories of someone else were thrown onto him. He needs to know if they’re real.</p><p> </p><p>  “It’s not polite to ask someone that, when you haven’t answered that question before, you know? You’re so impolite.” Ouma scoffs, his tone harsher as if judging him. He knows he deserves it. “And how do you know if I’m not lying to you? I’m a liar, after all.” A small glint flashes in Ouma’s eyes. He feels sick whenever he looks at those eyes, so he looks up to the shining sun that has only told truths.</p><p> </p><p>  “I have a feeling.” He says. A bird flies underneath the moon, all alone, with black and blue. It fits the scene, where the dark surrounds the two boys yet the moon shows hope, where the only sounds are the clinking sounds of the swings and the soft humming leaving Ouma and the buzzing and the cricketing, where it almost seems like a fairy tale. </p><p> </p><p>  Fairy tales are broken, he thinks to himself. “Well, time to lie my ass off. Yeah, I remember everything. I remember the day I was in my fucking mother’s womb to the day I had my fourth birthday with the president, to the time I got kidnapped by aliens, and then I became friends with a horse and rode it until I-” Ouma paused. Hesitation was a weakness, Ouma told him once, that you should only show in front of people you trust. He wonders how much of that was a lie and how much of that was a truth. “I remember you. But, like, you were dying. And I remember the look in your eyes when you tried to kill yourself. I laughed when I remembered that.”</p><p> </p><p>  <em> That’s a lie. </em>He doesn’t say that though, he just swings up, kicking his feet off the ground once more, sand particles flying like a sandstorm. “You remember me.” He shivers, as a blow of wind passes by. Ouma doesn’t say anything after that.</p><p> </p><p>  They both changed, both broken into pieces and forced to heal. They both never healed, they both remember, they both died once before, died twice in, now when will they die out? Memories overflooded his mind, memories from the past, present, and much too far into what he doesn’t want to remember.</p><p> </p><p><em>   He’s signing up for Danganronpa, tilting his head at the camera with a pristine smile. Foreign words spill out his mouth, “Why do I want to sign up for Danganronpa? Well, because…  Wouldn’t it be interesting to have me in the new killing game? I mean, after all, I am the twin of the past 5th killer, who didn’t have much of a clear trial, that time. It’s a perfect set-up as well since he was a little young when joining, and now it makes sense. Wouldn’t you gain quite a lot of theories and attention if I pretended to be </em> R͜҉̸̵͠ <b>a҉̵̵͜͢</b> <em> n̵͜t̕͟a͏҉̴̵r̢͘̕͢ </em> <em> o̸̧̕҉̧ </em> <b> <em>A̧͢͝͝҉</em> </b> <em> m̷̵͠͡͝ </em> <em> a͘͘͠ </em> <b>m҉̴̡͟͢</b> i̵̡̢͢ ?” <em> He gives them a small smile- Ah, the people behind the camera, he means, the people behind the screens. </em>He’s like a puppet, and he hates it.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   Life doesn’t matter anymore, neither does death. He doesn’t tell Ouma, he doesn’t plan to. He doesn’t want anybody to know. He wants this secret to be under lock and key until somebody realizes he’s missing, if anybody does. Who is he kidding? Ouma will. Ouma always will. He should tell him, but… </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   Before the last sign-ups, he tells himself. Because after that he can’t go back, and he just wants to feel- even for one more second- the regret sinking into his bones from Ouma’s face. But then it was too late, and he then- And then… And then? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>  The memory fades.</p><p> </p><p>  “You are so boring-” Ouma starts, his voice like a moody teenager. He doesn’t end the sentence, “Who are you?” Ouma’s purple eyes flash onto him. His distant thoughts could be heard. Was he himself? Was he not? That depended. It depended on too many small details, too many nooks, and crannies. Too many lies were the truth, and they all mixed together.</p><p> </p><p>  He pauses, words not being able to come out for a second. His heart was a different story, beating like a living man’s. “Who do you want me to be? Your friend that you were close to, the person that betrayed you? Or the person that died instantly?” He chuckled at his words as if he made a light joke. Ouma doesn’t laugh, that strange, peculiar blank look on his face burning into his lime eyes. His voice breaks as he tries to speak once more, “W-Who am I supposed to be..?” </p><p> </p><p><em>   Ah. </em> He lost his demeanor. He uncomfortably rubbed his neck, stopping the swing running up and down, his feet scratching into the sand. He laughs again, trying to pull it off as a game. <em> It was fine </em>, “You…” Ouma hesitates, “Heh, I guess my first friend was a lie. Then again, it was all a lie, wasn’t it? Our… deal, the one we made, I mean.” Ouma doesn’t say friendship.</p><p> </p><p>  He remembers, and a small, melancholy smile forms on his face like a wave. “Do you want it to be?” Up and down, the swing went around, up and down, and higher he went. It was a little childish, he thought to himself as Ouma went a little slower, matching his pace. “Actually, don’t answer.” Their deal. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   Cleaning duty. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   “Hey… Kokichi Ouma, right? I remember you from an assignment we had together.” His voice was weird, younger. And blatantly stressed. He sat on the desk in front of Ouma, leaning back and looking at the window, the sun glowing orange and red and beautiful. He turns away, looking at Ouma. Then he turns away at Ouma for the same reason. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   “Y-Yeah…” Ouma nods, trembling a little too much for him to care. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   “Wanna make a deal?” He sounds guarded, as if the lithe boy will pull a gun on him. He laughs at himself, and even then it sounds oddly abnormal. “Don’t worry, it will benefit us both.” Ouma gives him an innocent look, a tilt of a head, much too clean for this cursed world.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   He gets off the desk, lightly roaming his hand on Ouma’s desk. He gives Ouma a shit-eating grin and Ouma gives him a weak, confused smile. He hums at the sweet, raven-headed boy in a Gakuen. “I’ll stay by your side until the day I die, and you… You let me be your friend- Uh, that sounds weird, “He snorts at himself, “I don’t know what I’m saying. Um, so, how’s your day?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>  The memory fades before Ouma can open his mouth. “Oh, Ouma. We’re in sync. I remember what that meant when we were younger, it means we’re married, right?” Their swings swing up and down, up and down together, if not slightly off.</p><p> </p><p>  “Well, I don’t want children. Can I have a divorce?” Ouma asks, stopping his swing, “Can I… Can you just leave? I was having the best time talking to the demon in the sand…” He makes a soft whining voice, a little too soft for it to be Ouma’s voice. </p><p> </p><p>  “Why? Am I annoying you?” He asks, looking at the small boy. He stops his swing, walking over. Ouma doesn’t move when he kneels down, “Do you- ...Why did you join Danganronpa? Was it because of me..? Was it because… You were mad at me? Was it because I ignored your love confession?” Ouma doesn’t reply. He couldn’t see Ouma’s face either because Ouma was covering it with his hands.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   After he told Ouma, they yelled at each other for a long time. His throat was dry and he felt tired, he didn’t want to argue. Then Ouma ran off… And he didn’t look back. The day after, his phone was rapidly spammed with notifications; Missed calls, strings of texts. Ouma apologizing over and over for leaving so abruptly, and, and a what- A… A love confession? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   He came to the conclusion Ouma was lying. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>  “You know,” Ouma’s voice was muffled, “I bet your face will fly off right now if I kick my feet.” A carefree laugh comes out of the teenager sitting in front of Ouma. “Can we- Can you go away? I need to-” Ignored requests were not his specialty, but yes, he was familiar with them. And with them, he shall do.</p><p> </p><p>  “Is it because of my reply?” He asked, expecting no response. That was how Ouma worked, he knew, both in and out the game. He hesitated, if for even a slight second, and run away, lie and lie and pull off and on masks that didn’t make sense, both in and out the game.</p><p> </p><p>  There was a response. “What do you care?” Ouma looks up, a pair of amethyst purple into a horrible, weird off-ish green. “First, you try to befriend me, like, why the fuck was it <em> me </em>you had to choose? And then a whole year later, you just- you just leave to go do Danganronpa with some weird new identity like your brother’s!?”</p><p> </p><p>  “You never told me,” He argues back, his voice a little shaky. That wasn’t like him, he wasn’t meant to sound so controlled. He laughs at himself, feeling like his sanity is dripping away. “You never told me you were joining Danganronpa. You never told me that you made it. Kokichi Ouma- I can’t even remember your real name, they just replaced it with that artificial name that whenever I think about, I remember you, with your fake purple hair and your fake lies that don’t even make sense, yet you’re still… you.” His voice drops into a small whisper, and he looks down.</p><p> </p><p>  “I don’t even know who you are anymore,” Ouma tells him as well, laughing, laughing ever so carefreely, so calculated yet so <em> not. </em> “You’re not even R͜҉̸̵͠ <b>a҉̵̵͜͢</b> <em> n̵͜t̕͟a͏҉̴̵r̢͘̕͢ </em> <em> o̸̧̕҉̧ </em> <b> <em>A̧͢͝͝҉</em> </b> <em> m̷̵͠͡͝ </em> <em> a͘͘͠ </em> <b>m҉̴̡͟͢</b>i̵̡̢͢ or that weird-ass guy that randomly made a deal with me when we both happened to have cleaning duty.” The taller teenager starts to laugh as well, with the purple-headed one. They can both feel their sanity dripping away into each other, and to be honest, it feels pretty great.</p><p> </p><p>  “We’re matching.” The one with slightly curly chartreuse hair, with his ears pierced too many times for him to care said, “In a sense where we are both are really, really horrible people and are going crazy.” The one with a weird tint of skin color, some mix of pink and white and yellow and more than he can think, with matching eyes and a small, guarded smile resting on his face.</p><p> </p><p>  “Who even are we? Who were we? Who are we going to be?” Ouma asked, looking up at the moon, the buzzing has faded now, and it’s almost completely silent except for the two loud boys trying their best not to go insane that find that an impossible task. Impossible when the ones making themselves go insane are each other.</p><p> </p><p>  “I’m not sure, I’m not sure- Hey, I don’t have all the answers in the world.” His facade is melting slowly- Or whatever was left of himself, he leans forward, almost making the boy on the swing fall off the swing. “Do you remember what my name is? Or did you forget like me? Have you forgiven me? Or are you still mad?”</p><p> </p><p>  “When the perpendicularity of the photosynthesis dissector is bisected into fractionogonical chronologically and split into synthetic compounds the bisector of photosynthesis will change the state of matter and reduce all particles of the photosynthesis</p><p>When the photosynthesis dissector is run, the process of pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis is-” Ouma explains, a blank face but a gleam in his eyes, saying words a little too fast for him to understand. That’s fine. They’ll be fine. They’re okay and still alive. That’s good enough for now.</p><p> </p><p>  “Okay, okay- stop. I don’t want to hear from you anymore. Please, just stop.” He says, backing away from the swing in an instant, his back almost hits the other playground utilities but he goes back to his own swing. “...Wanna make a deal?” He kicks his feet, the sand flies up and so does he, up and down in the swing. “Don’t worry, it will benefit us both.”</p><p> </p><p>  Ouma snorts at him, as if he just made the worst joke in history and then asked Ouma to eat the joke. “Hm… Maybe, maybe if you make a new evil secret organization with me. Maybe if you can bring all my subordinates to real life. Maybe if you… Out with it, Avocado-chan.”</p><p> </p><p>  “Alright, Grape-kun,” He laughs, tugging at his jacket. His jacket, filled with buttons and things he stuck on there, or so he remembers, to make it look better. Because Ouma said it made it look better. “I’ll be by you as long as you be by me.” He says, going higher and higher on the swing.</p><p> </p><p>  He jumps off the end, and his heart stops for a second. It’s a little childish when your memories tell you have been through two killing games and survived to the end at one of them. “That’s gonna be kind of hard when I made a full-on love confession for you.” Ouma whistles, jumping off as well. “You jumped off your swing. What are you? A child?”</p><p> </p><p>  “You jumped off as well.” He argues, then going back to the fairly more important subject, “Let’s start off as friends.” Ouma starts humming again, and he is pretty sure Ouma is cold, without a jacket, in the moonlight. It’s a little romantic, which makes him laugh.</p><p> </p><p>  “Friends,” Ouma repeats, his voice slightly in a trance. “Friends? I guess we really are children.” Ouma nods to himself, rubbing his arms. Ouma’s cold, clearly so. He took off his jacket and stared up at the moon for a moment. Bright, showing no lies, hiding behind nothing, and so, so hopeful. He looks away at the boy in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>  “Yeah, I guess you just have to deal with it. Want my jacket?- Actually, we should head in soon. You know what, how about we watch some late-night movies and make fun of the others- At least, the others that are still functioning.” Ouma nods, and they follow the buzzing leading them into the building.</p><p> </p><p>  “Hey… Kentaro,” he remembers now, his real name, or something along those lines. “It’s fine for us to be friends, right?” Ouma says, his voice sinking into his head. “I mean- It was your fault. And that’s not a lie. Unless that was a lie.” He says the last part quickly.</p><p> </p><p>  “It’s fine.” That’s the truth.</p><p> </p><p>  <em> “H-Hey… Kentaro, if… would you participate in Danganronpa? N-Not like your brother b-but...” Ouma askes, eyes wide as they leisurely rested on their stomachs on Kentaro’s bed and not paying much attention to the flashing colors as they watched the execution of his brother, Rantaro. His eyes flicker to Kentaro and back to his wrists. Down and up, down and up. Kentaro laughs at that, finding it amusing. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   “I’m not really sure.” Kentaro shrugs, sighing into his pillow, “I mean, yeah it would be a lot of money and shit but then I might leave you all alone, and I don’t even want to know what happened to you that one time when Mae hung around you. You literally looked like you wanted to kill her.” Ouma laughs at that, finding it amusing. “Maybe. Maybe if I- Maybe if I see you again.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>   Beer cans are scattered on the floor that Kentaro doesn’t want to clean later. Their homework was long forgotten, most likely in the trash. It doesn’t matter anymore, Kentaro told Ouma, and he can’t help but agree. The room is a mess, a horse mask that he planned on giving to Ouma one day, a trash bag in the corner, a small, old TV in front of Kentaro’s bed. It smells like beer, and the grape shampoo Kentaro uses Ouma gave him a few days ago that he doesn’t really like but uses anyway, and that weird smell that is of Ouma. It’s not home, but it’s not </em> not <em> home. </em>It’s all so real to him when he searches back into this memory, placed neatly underneath all the others like a comic you would sometimes find in your local dictionary store.</p><p> </p><p>  <em> There’s a scar on Ouma’s cheek, a bandage on his wrists, and he knows that there are scars all around him. Another bandage on his fingers, a scab on his knee from when somebody pushed him off the stairs once. A broken smile on Ouma’s face, his black hair curling from being messed with too much. He’s beautiful, and Kentaro looks away. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   “We’ll forget this, won’t we?” Ouma laughs. He finds it amusing, so he laughs. He doesn’t stutter, he doesn’t run away, he doesn’t offhandedly lie and immediately get noticed. He smiles, his eye crinkling, his cheeks turning a light carnation pink. Kentaro laughs at well, finding it amusing. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   They find it too amusing, laughing over and over at stupid jokes they keep on throwing at each other, not bothering to be quiet as Kentaro’s parents are overseas and his brother is in a fucking killing game with different memories-he doesn’t even remember his twin brother, replaced with 12 hand-me-down sisters that he cares oh-so-deeply about that makes everything just so funnier. They laugh some more, drink some more, kill more time together, even for one more second. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>   “Hey, Ouma, I’m planning on doing Danganronpa’s 53 </em> <em> rd </em> <em> season,” Kentaro announces. Then they laugh some more because it’s all too funny. “And I’m going to pretend to be my brother and have all my memories removed.” Ouma giggles. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   “I love you,” Ouma announces, slurring a little, leaning back into Kentaro’s bed. He slowly falls asleep, and Kentaro mutters something back that seems a little too blurry for him to hear. It’s all so blurry- But not because he’s drunk. Actually, he isn’t drunk at all. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   Kentaro laughs some more before pecking the smaller boy’s cheek and falling asleep. For now, it’s fine for them to be like this. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <strong>If you are not <em>Mother_of_a_Grape_Gremlin, </em>then you can proceed..! Or stay, I guess if you want to. </strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Thank you MoaGG for letting me write this, and sorry it took so long! So you might have noticed I changed a few things from what you wanted, and I'm sorry about that. I didn't put a lot of angst since you can't really feel angst when watching horror games from a guy with a voice like ASMR and when he sees the creature he doesn't scream but goes, "<em>Oh, neat.</em>" (I was watching horror games because he's been updating a lot). I also made that he doesn't say his name in 3rd person until like, the very last moment because I didn't read that you wanted him to have had been in the lat killing game, so I wasn't sure how to maneuver. I honestly had no idea how to write this, and this is actually my second version of this story, though you can ask me for the rough draft If you want. I also have never written Rantaro's personality much, so that's probably OOC, and Kokichi's personality is OOC as well. </p><p> </p><p>  <strong>Thank you for everyone reading this and here is the <em>prompt</em>:</strong></p><blockquote>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <em>To preface this, Rantaro and Kokichi were best friends during pre-game. Kokichi had planned to confess his love to Rantaro while they were wandering through a park but before he could Rantaro tells him he got accepted for the 53rd season of Danganronpa. This results in them getting into a screaming match, as Kokichi didn’t want Rantaro to participate in another killing game. The fight ends with them no longer speaking to each other. Kokichi decides to apply to said killing game and got accepted. He had planned on trying to fix his friendship with Rantaro then confess to him but had to resort to texting said avocado who would read them but refused to respond, when Rantaro read Ko’s confession of love to him he got super pissed thinking that the other only said that to get his attention and guilt-trip him which resulted in him replying in a majorly cruel way and neither of them bothered to interact with each other. Btw Ko never told avocado that he got into DR.</em></p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <em>Now for the prompt. After they all wake up from the sim, they remembered their past selves and kept their in-game memories too. Due to scientific bs, they keep their in-game personalities. After seeing Ko for the first time since their falling out. Something along the lines of angst and eventual hurt/comfort happens then they get together and live happily ever after. The end.</em><br/></p>
</blockquote>It probably isn't the happy jolly ending where they end up together, and I probably didn't flesh out how Kokichi's feelings and Rantaro's feelings out enough, and how he feels about DICE, and how Rantaro feels about his brother and having now the same memories as him as well as others, but I hope it was satisfying enough.<p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em><br/><strong>Have a good day! :)</strong><br/></em></p></blockquote></div></div>
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